


The Start of Everything

by RoosterPotterGirl



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Achievement Hunter Heists, FAHC, First Meetings, Gen, Geoff's POV, Mass Death, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-27 08:43:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6277585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoosterPotterGirl/pseuds/RoosterPotterGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Geoff needs an outlet. Jack advises writing the whole story, beginning to end. And when Geoff is told beginning, he goes all the way back, before Fake AH was even imagined. Before the lads got into their life of crime, before Ryan earned his title as Vagabond, before Jack and Geoff met. Before Burnie recruited Geoff into his first crew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Geoff Ramsey

No one ever plans to join a crew.

No child answers “I wanna sell drugs and murder people!” when asked the age-old ‘what do you want to do when you grow up?’ question, unless you count Clyde in the Bonnie and Clyde musical. At least, according to what Ryan said.

Still, there are countless gangs in Los Santos. We basically have the run of the city, whether or not the ‘normal’ citizens agree. Poor souls, those pedestrians caught in a daily police chase, acknowledging that this was inevitable. That, after however many years they’ve lived in this shit city, they’d get caught up in something or another. Hell, more often than not, that was how some kids joined their crews.

God knows that’s how I met some of the best men in this city. That’s how I recruited the best damn sniper I’ve ever seen, the craziest and angriest motherfuckers alive, a stupid British prick that I trust my life with, a sneaky and observant smart-ass, and the kindest murderer that’s ever existed, onto the most well known gang this city’s had in years. And then there’s me; a drunk with too much time in his hands. Name’s Geoff. I’m sure you’ve heard of me. Like I said, I run the most known crew in Los Santos- the Fake AH Crew.

I didn’t plan on ruining six other people's lives, nor my own. Ray –the sniper- joined when he was only eighteen. Michael, Jeremy, and Gavin weren’t much older.

I didn’t make them join. Quite a few of these assholes sought me out. Ray just offered to snipe for us after overhearing Gavin and I plan a heist in some bar. Ryan nearly killed me in my limo, so he was already pretty ruined. Jeremy actively hoped to be recruited, he was like an excited puppy when I hired him. It was pretty disconcerting. Michael would’ve gone off the deep-end at some point, with his anger issues, so I helped him focus that rage into detonating bombs to rob banks. Gavin was just an old friend that had…connections, so I offered, and he took. I’m…not entirely sure where Jack came from.

Holy shit, when did Jack join?

Fuck, never mind, I’ll ask her to jog my memory later. I’ve still gotta write this damn thing… Where was I?

Yeah, that’s everyone. Well, everyone on A-Team. We’ve got a B-team, too, but most of their stories involve looking online for a criminal to fill a certain role, or one of my boys saying that someone they know needs a job and meets my requirements.

Do you know where I’m going with this? Because I sure don’t. I’m only writing this because Jack said it would ‘help’ to ‘tell my story’. But I’m gonna tell the whole story, because who knows who else will read this? Maybe it’ll be so good that Jack will post it secretly. Or maybe I will. And, if not, old me that won’t remember shit will probably need help with who everyone was. So, here goes. My story.

The whole story.

 

Obviously, I started the Fake AH Crew. But there’s more depth than just hiring them off the internet. There’s more than just me going ‘hey, crime sounds fun; let’s drag my close friends and random kids into it as well!’ There’s more than the small recaps I gave; they have their own place, and I’m the only one left to lay it all out.

I began the crime life in my mid-to-late twenties, originally with only Gus Sorola. Later that year, Burnie Burns got high up in the crime business, and started sniffing out newbies with ‘potential.’ He also found Joel Heyman, a man way too invested in investing, especially gold, and Matt Hullum, who quickly became the actual leader. We formed the Roosters, and rose to the top of Los Santos; anything that happened went through them, nothing unseen. No one dared upset the balance.

It was perfect.

But then it got bigger. Burnie and Matt started hiring kids off the street-not that I’m against that. Those kids were living in dumps, and had great initiative and talent. But then the original crew had to spread across the city to manage everything. After months of only discussing ‘professional’ issues with Burnie and never even directly speaking to Matt, I’d had enough. So I tried to...re-connect. I set up a heist, for just the five of us. No backup, no hacking from the building, nothing. Just them, like the old days. And it went to absolute shit. 

No one had any idea what to do without anyone on the com back at headquarters, Gus fucked up and didn’t hit a single camera because of his reliance on it already being hacked, Joel didn’t know where to drive, and Matt nearly died. We lost the cops and drove back to our first shared condo to what Matt called a ‘discussion.’ It felt more like a violent, angry intervention. 

“Hey, asshole, look where your damn nostalgia got us!” Gus was absolutely furious, his stream of expletives never ending. “An injured boss, a broken car, and no fucking money!”

“It’s not my fault that you were so far up your own asses that you relied on the backup that wasn’t there!” I shot back. 

“You didn’t give us any time to prepare, it was a step away from kidnapping!” Burnie was as red as Gus, practically fuming out the ears. 

“I told you, I wanted to experience old times again, before your damn expansions! I wanted some fucking time together, I haven’t seen any of you in months!”

“You poor fucking baby! Oh no, you haven’t seen your friends in months? Guess what, we’re adults, asshole! We can’t be constantly together like we were in the beginning!” Burnie seemed to be further infuriated every time I tried to defend myself, and it was terrifying and heartbreaking. Not that I’d let it show.

Finally, Matt spoke up, still nursing his bullet wounds. “We’ve been working, Geoff. I’m sorry that we don’t see each other as often. But this was never a good idea, and it couldn’t have gone well. We’ve grown up, we have work to do, it’s not all fun and games anymore.”

“We’re fucking criminals, not accountants! This isn’t being a grown-up, real grown-ups don’t steal from banks in stupid masks and torture people that won’t tell us secrets!”

“It’s our profession, in a way. It’s the only route possible to earn money, and it turned out that we set up an empire. It just so happened to be a crime empire.” Joel added thoughtfully.

“Fuck off, Joel!” The three of us screamed.

“Look, man, if this is just a game to you, go start your own crew. We’re trying to get somewhere in life, not just have a good time. It was nice when it lasted, but evolution is necessary. You’re gonna have to learn that, if you want to be a ‘real grownup.’”

“You know what? I will, Burns. I’m gonna start my own crew, and they’re gonna understand friendship! And fun, and the mixture of grownup bullshit with the joys of being childish sometimes!”

“Then get the fuck out!” Gus screamed, pointing at the door to the building.

I stomped out, infuriated, probably the most mad I’d ever been. Hell, probably the most mad I’ve still ever been.

I did, obviously, end up starting my own crew. I also learned that expansion was a necessity, as Burnie so bluntly advised. But the main crew stays together. The six of us go out, contact B Team, and succeed. And we stay in contact.

I heard later on that the other four Roosters became police officers. The newbies they hired either joined them or took it over, and it’s shrunken exponentially. (That was a nice word. Ryan would be proud.)

I didn’t succeed immediately, of course. I wasn’t alone for a second. I was joined by Jack, the only recruit I was remotely interested in joining the main crew. Together, we won the uphill battle.


	2. Jack Pattillo

Jack started with far less spite, and no connections. She was one of the recruits either Burns or Hullum hired, and came to me after I (loudly) decided to leave the Roosters and start my own crew. She started listing what I assume was credentials she memorized off her resume, though I don’t know why she’d have a resume for criminal activity, and I interrupted her.

“Will you stop if I say you can help me make my crew?”

This, however, is not her beginning.

Jack wanted to be pilot as a kid. She remembered her parents paying to take her up in a helicopter, and at one point she was put in the pilot’s lap. She didn’t have a view anymore, but it didn’t matter. Her parents wanted to make her happy, at least before she came out.

She never let go of this fascination, and even got some pilot training, but focused on instead becoming a doctor during high school.

Her family couldn’t pay for pre-med, and frankly if they could, Jack suspected they wouldn't. They didn't support her transition. So she turned to crime. At first, it was simply petty theft. But being on the streets long enough means you get a rep; when you get a rep, you get competition.

 

She grinned brightly at the older woman, who made a ‘humph’ in response. Jack didn’t allow this to affect her mood; she had already swiped the woman’s credit card, mainly due to the attitude maintained throughout the interaction.

Jack had entered the building for fast food, but she never gave up chances to help her family by pocketing people who didn’t deserve their wealth. This woman, who had been nothing but a nuisance to the teenaged employees and a hold up to other customers, was the Prince John to her Robin Hood.

“This is ridiculous, a simply burger should not take this long!” It was easy to picture steam cartoonishly blowing out of her ears.

“Miss, we took your order a minute ago. We have to make food for the customers that were in line earlier and still waiting.”

“You need to take my needs into account! What kind of business is this?”

This is when Jack stepped in, scanning the woman for an expensive watch to take, bracelets or even a necklace. When she saw nothing, there was a split-second decision to be made.

“Hello, miss, do you have time to donate to the fund for under-privileged children in Kenya?” Jack assumed the woman was racist; from all she’d witnessed, it would be surprising if she wasn’t horrendously prejudiced.

“I don’t have time for this!” She pulled out her wallet to tip the cashier a quarter. Jack pushed the wallet down out of her face, quickly sliding a card out with quick fingers. The older woman snatched her wallet from Jack’s hand, but hadn’t commented on the theft. Jack, who had already placed her order and was waiting in a separate line for her food, was handed her order after this. “Thank you for your time miss!” The woman scowled at her, made her ‘hmph’ noise, and turned when Jack sat down.

Leaving the building, Jack was stopped by a boy calling “Hey, you! Redhead with the Hawaiian shirt!”

He was visibly small, but his face was bruised. He had a baby face, so it was disarming to see him with so serious an expression. Jack wanted to know what he looked like when he smiled. If he smiled. Are his parents worried about him? Are his parents around?

Jack shook the motherly questions away, realizing he was speaking; he was barely younger than she, anyways.

“I saw you take that old bag’s card. What do you think of joining my street gang?”

She found it difficult not to laugh, responding with “I’m not one for gangs. I steal to survive, not to have fun. Good luck, kid.”

The boy reached for his pocket, focusing Jack’s attention on the handgun in it. “Mister," Jack winced. "I was just tryna be polite. When you run with us, you don’t get no choices. You’re coming with me, missy.”

He pulled the gun out, and Jack thought ‘he needs to be properly taught how to shoot one of those’ before anything else. Still, she ran out the door and turned, ducking behind the corner closest to them. He followed out, the gun in his right hand dangling. She could she how tensed his hand was, though, and knew that if her life wasn’t on the line, she’d advise him to use both hands and keep it trained towards your target. Instead, she slowed her breathing and made a fist.

When he should’ve been a few steps away, Jack noted a lack of footsteps and the sound of a deep breath. Taking the chance she’d been given, she turned without looking, accidentally closing her eyes in the process, and punched at the boy. She felt pain in her fingers, but also teeth scraping against skin, and then blood; some was hers, some was his.

Jack opened her eyes to see the boy put his hand over his mouth, facial expression a mix between shocked and in pain. She glanced down at her hand, at which the boy shrieked and ran in the opposite direction.

She, on the other hand, hot-wired a nearby car and drove it a few blocks away from her home, where she ditched it and walked the remaining distance.

After this, Jack got more and more challenges to fight; when she could, she denied and left the situation. When she couldn’t, she won. 

She also received several more invitations to join crews. 

She said no to all but one.


	3. James Ryan Haywood

Ryan began earlier than most. As a child he was hired to be a bodyguard, intimidating bullies on the playground. He doesn’t count that as his beginning, though; when asked, he talks about his first kill, at a ripe seventeen years old, still known as James. He was walking home, going down small streets littered with trash, until someone dressed up in black came forward.

“You ready to die, kid?”

James, involuntarily pushing panic to the back of his mind, looked around for a weapon; it wasn’t rare to find a knife, or even guns, laying abandoned on the ground in these areas. Today, there were only beer bottles; he ducked down in case the man brought out a gun to shoot and grabbed a nearby bottle.

“What, alcoholic starting young?” The man sneered, bringing out a rather dull knife. Wordlessly, and trying to force his hand to stop shaking, James broke the bottle. He was raised in Georgia, so his family taught him from a young age how to fight. He’d first shot a gun on his twelfth birthday.

“D-don’t come any closer!” James threatened; he’d failed, the hand holding the now-broken bottle shaking even harder. Still, he didn’t back down, lashing out as if he were already talking.

“I’m terrified,” The man reeked of cigarettes, and the smell enveloped James when the other man stepped closer.

Panicking when the man took another step and raised his knife, James threw the bottle and caught him in the neck. He hadn’t realized until after he reached home, running the entire way, that the bottle was still lodged after the man fell, bleeding heavily.

“I killed someone,” he whispered to himself. “I killed someone.” He thought he should feel guiltier at the prospect. James wasn’t sure what he felt at that moment.

 

He ran away after that; he ran far from home, fearing those he grew up around to think him criminally insane, fearing the adults who’d praised him for being ‘a bright lad’ would turn around, throwing around words like ‘dangerous,’ ‘animal,’ and ‘monstrous.’

He ran until his legs couldn’t carry him, and then some. He found small jobs, cashiering and bagging groceries around. He moved often, kept running, worried someone would find him. Find the body. He never touched another beer bottle, avidly avoided weapons until he had no choice. Until it happened again.

“Get out of my damn store, ruffian!” James turned to the woman running the corner store, believing her demand was aimed at him; instead, he followed her line of sight to another young man with darker skin and a hoodie. “Don’t you steal my wares!”

“Ms, I’m just looking for some cat food.” He put his hands up quickly, demonstrating innocence. 

“I know your kind, now leave! Shoo! I’ll call the police!”

Now in twenty, James stepped in. “Ma’am, he’s shopping here like the rest of us. What proof do you have that he has any intent to rob you?”

“The news! I know the kind of people he’d run with, young man, don’t you dare question your elders.” She was, evidently, hysterical; she was jabbing her finger in James’ chest, waving her other arm around angrily, and raising in volume with every word. “Now, you get out of my store!” Her attention returned to the younger man, but the fire in her eyes did everything but diminish; if anything, she seemingly became worse.

“Ma’am, just calm down-”

“Don’t tell me how to behave! You run with their crowd too, don’t you!?” The man she was shouting at ran when she turned to James, which only confirmed her suspicions. “And don’t come back!” 

She came out from behind the register counter, grabbing a broom on the way. Before she could chase anyone down the street, James grabbed her wrist.

“Let go of me!” She thrashed around, and attacked James. He ignored any impulse to fight back; ‘this can be settled peacefully’ was all he let himself think.

“Not until you calm down.”

She instead continued to attack him until James felt blood drip, only hurt enough for small amounts to show. Still, this pushed him to a breaking point; he no longer feared himself, what he was capable of. The change apparently showed, as the woman quickly shrunk in fear.

“You don’t know when to stop,” James told her coldly. “You should be taught some manners. Luckily, I’m here to do that.”

He reached for the broomstick, and no one heard her scream.

 

After that, he no longer feared what he was capable of; James began carrying around knives, robbing people blind, sometimes still killing those that obeyed demands. He lost control, and yet he never felt more in control. 

For the final time, he was in a fight; for the first time, he killed without reluctance or fear. He hardly even looked into the girl’s eyes before firing a shot straight into her head; it had not lasted more than a minute, she was on the ground before she could get a shot in, and the bullet was in without a second thought.

He was a whisper throughout the world; he still rarely stayed in one place, not willing to give up the tradition. Due to this, he was less of a person, more of a shadow; he was called a vagabond. And so this is what he became: The Vagabond. He was thirty, now, and lost count of how many had died by his hand, and he preferred it that way. Keeping count was a way to show off; when children believed they could make it in the real world. The Vagabond was not one for bragging; he simply did what he felt was needed. What he wanted.

He made a living, as a hitman, and was even called in for torture. He’d never tried it, but after the first try it was apparent he was a natural. He was born for crime, like some are born for science, for doctoring, for normal careers.

The Vagabond preferred…recreation to career, but being paid for what you enjoy was never a crime. Unless you enjoy crime, of course.

So when a shiny limousine pulled up, and a man covered in tattoos sporting a handlebar mustache offered him pay for a heist, he silently opened the door and joined the man in the limo’s back seat.


	4. Michael Jones

We called for the Vagabond for any upcoming heists, eventually even for small jobs. Still, we (mostly Ryan and I) had an agreement; he could work with us, but Ryan would remain separate from the crew. He claimed to be a ‘lone wolf;’ Jack thought he didn’t want to grow close to anyone else, for whatever reason.

Still, I had to admit we needed more than an occasional hire. We needed the crew to truly expand, a new addition. Jack started looking into it, finding a good candidate ‘off the streets.’

 

Michael was the shining example of young adults dragged into crime. Unlike ‘James,’ he wasn’t pegged for crime. He was a normal (albeit angry) kid, who didn’t like school and just aimed to get average grades. Too hyper to pay attention even in elementary school, Michael would stare at the clock, waiting for time to pass until the bell rang.

Easy to entertain, Michael’s mind would wander. As a pastime he would imagine the clockwork inside, the wiring required. Everyday he’d choose a new piece of technology to think of, from the family computer to the television to his game consoles. His mind was filled with metal and wires and gears, becoming a go-to distraction during school hours.

This would be what led him to choose auto shop as an elective in high school, still feeling the tug of interest towards wiring. He’d take part-time jobs in car repair for money, until he’d graduate high school and become an electrician. It may not have paid well, and didn’t have as much to do with electrical engineering as he would’ve liked, but Michael didn’t have many choices available with only a high school diploma and little experience.

Well, there weren’t many legal choices available. Legality wouldn’t be a big problem for him soon enough.

 

“Hey, Jones! Over here!” Michael stopped and braced himself for another ‘conference’ with his boss. He couldn’t recall a recent moment of being particularly rude to a customer, but people seemed to love complaining. As the youngest at the company, Michael often found himself to be a scapegoat for his co-workers fuck-ups. His being well-known for a short temper didn’t help.

Instead of looking angry, and like he was about to hand out punishment, his boss seemed confused. Pointing behind him, he whispered “You see that?”

He was pointing at the entrance; specifically, to a person standing by it wearing a hood that hid their face. It was out of the ordinary for any customer to come in-person, since ads said to just call in to hire someone, and the purposeful anonymity raised red flags and alarm bells for Michael.

Still, he told his boss he’d handle them and began to approach the stranger. When he came close enough to see some semblance of skin underneath the hood, he called out “Sir?” When they don’t acknowledge him, he switched to “Ma’am?” in a louder voice.

Michael was a foot away, and the stranger still didn’t turn towards him at any point. It wasn’t likely they didn’t notice; he wasn’t being quiet in any way. They were, for whatever reason, purposely ignoring him. As if he would go away if they pretended he wasn’t there. This only infuriated him, causing Michael to aggressively jab at the stranger’s shoulder when he finally stood barely over a foot away.

No longer convinced ignoring him would work, the stranger bolted out the door they had come in.

“What the fuck was that about!?” Michael shouted after them. The only response was a slight ticking noise that would’ve been easy to ignore. The silence following his eruption lasted long enough for it to be noticed, but not so long he could be reassured that it wasn’t imagined.

He was ready to decide it hadn’t been real before he kicked something hard when he tried to turn around. “Shit!” He yelled, allowing for another second of silence to hear a tick by his feet again. 

For some reason Michael had imagined the cartoon ball with a fuse sticking out. Instead, he looked down to see a larger-than-average briefcase. By now, his coworkers noticed the object and stared in stunned silence. As soon as Michael bent down to open it, though, the building erupted in panicked screams. Michael, on the other hand, felt more at peace than ever. He was back in his elementary school classroom, imagining the configuration of clocks and television sets. It was instinctual, seeing thin wires that were not as multicolored as television pretended they were; there would be no crisis of choosing between blue or red for him, it was all black.

They led from a box that could’ve held an engagement ring up to the open side of the case to holes and nodules.

“Jones, you trying to kill us?!” His boss’ voice rose above the others, but Michael paid him no need. He felt more at home than ever, more comfortable with these wires than anything he worked on here. He looked over the workings of the bombs before snapping one that seemed to more nodules than any other. 

At first, there was no reaction from the bomb, and his coworkers became even more frantic. It was only when Michael screamed at them to shut up did they notice the ticking stopped. Just to be safe, he ran to the dumpster of car parts in the back before speaking to anyone else.

“You work for the police or something?”

“You’re a hero, man!”

Ensuing statements of awe were ignored. Michael felt the exhilaration leave his body, and felt only determination for it to continue. If he’d ever tried drugs, he would’ve compared the feeling to an addiction. He shoved the others aside to reach his boss.”

“Great job-”

“I’m quitting.” Without waiting for a response, Michael speed-walked back towards the same doors the stranger who dropped the bomb had run out of.

 

After that, Michael studied bombs, doing whatever he had to in order to get his hands on one. Eventually, he learned to make his own, growing from simple homemade bombs that were no worse than firecrackers, up to those that had the power to demolish the floor of an apartment building. 

At first, he used the skill to aid the common people; eventually, the other side of the law became aware of him, and Michael was so desperate for pay he stooped to selling his devices and knowledge to those who would use it for bad, and he quickly stopped caring. 

He, too, would come to use the skill for bad. There wouldn’t be a second thought before he accepting jobs from crews, hoping to sabotage police or rob a bank. He would not, however, decide to join any crew right off the bat, no matter the pay offered; he needed their trust, and did not doubt that trust should be returned if he were to rely on a crew.

When one Jack Pattillo contacted him with offers of working full-time with he and another man called Ramsey, Michael shot him down. It wasn’t until Pattillo responded with promises of ‘trial heists’ did Michael think of accepting any sort of job with the two of them.


	5. Gavin Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I missed last week, guys! (at least, you few who actually read this. Kudos and comments don't hurt <3) It was hectic for me, I didn't have time to write or post bc it was halloween, and then Nov 1-7 my friends and I decided to do a B-Team Appreciation Week, topped off with lots of schoolwork (mostly makeup work. I'm not the best student.) Enjoy!

Half a year of Michael working with us, Jack brought up hiring him full-time again. Michael accepted without hesitation, admitting he forgot he wasn’t already working with us, all the time he spent with us. He’d grown close enough to call Jack and I ‘Mom and Dad.’ Ryan even seemed fond of him, we’d send the Vagabond and Michael out together to create pure havoc and bloodshed. Both were so prone to violence we’d call them ‘Team Crazy Mad.’

Michael had already begun to feel like a part of the family, and it reminded me of my early days in the Roosters. Jack had even stopped pushing me to hire people off the street every five seconds.

Imagine her surprise when I walked in with a new recruit not a month later.

 

Gavin, unlike the rest of the Fakes’ recruits, was not forced into crime for money. Growing up in England, his family could afford a comfortable life, safe from the fear of starvation.

Despite that, Gavin began stealing what could’ve easily been afforded. As a child he would pickpocket neighbors and family friends that came to visit. It wasn’t like other children, doing bad just to prove he could; Gavin had expected to be discovered with every attempt. It was a natural inclination, a want for what others owned. 

His targets would brush the disappearances off as the item being misplaced; never once did they bother to glance at the child-thief, the secret criminal.

Gavin would never be forced to rely on this skill for survival; it certainly came in handy, but never a necessity. Instead, it served in games he played with unsuspecting civilians:  
“How much can I take?” or “How far can I go?” The day often ended with the victim left speechless at being robbed blind by the charming boy.

The game only ended the one time he got caught.

 

“Hello sir!” Gavin chirped at the man. He didn’t fit among the gaudy souvenirs for tourists; he wore a well-fit suit-vest and an annoyed frown. Didn’t seem one to willingly go on vacation, either; most likely a business trip. The man looked at Gavin with disdain before sharply turning away.

Looking closer, Gavin saw dark circles beneath his eyes, and his arm would move to rest on his neck or lower back; wherever he worked obviously didn’t cash in for a good hotel.

“What are you buying?” Gavin attempted to peak over the man’s shoulder into his bag. In response, the man tore his bag closer to him and away from the store employee attempting to put his items away neatly. He held it protectively, like it was a child and Gavin was a rabid animal, and sent a suspicious glare towards Gavin.

“None of your business, kid.” American; figures. His left hand was void of a ring, so it couldn’t be a family vacation. Definitely a business trip.

“Excuse you, I’m an adult!” Gavin squawked indignantly, moving in the man’s path towards the doors, placing his foot directly in front of where the man’s would land, causing them both to stumble. The man fell on top of Gavin, dropping his bags and all its items. “I’m so sorry, sir!”

Gavin adjusted his position in order to be on his knees, picking up spilled items and feigning stuffing the bag to hide his sneaking of smaller items.

“Get away from that-!” The man snatched his bag away, leaving only Gavin on the floor, an expensive-looking watch in his hand.

This was it: he had finally been caught. Gavin finally realized the fight-or-flight response: his only thought was racing away before the man realized just how much Gavin had taken. So he ran out of the store, out of Bicester Village, watch in hand. He would only later realize that this only made him seem guiltier.

 

Gavin ended up in a holding cell by the end of the day, sat on the bare ground and ignoring the guards.

“Free. Get up.”

Gavin grumpily obeyed, sending a glare to the man barking orders. He apparently didn’t take it kindly, as he moved until the bars separating Gavin from the rest of the station nearly touched his skin. He grabbed at Gavin, cupping his chin and squeezing Gavin’s cheeks, pulling the blonde man forward.

“Get some manners, kid.” The man spoke through grit teeth, and his spit flew onto Gavin’s face. Hiding his disgust, Gavin forced a smile, and watched the satisfaction in the guard’s face, not noticing the arm slinking through the bars and swiping the key ring in his pocket.

“Smart kid.” Aiming to patronize, the man at Gavin’s head like a dog after playing dead. Gavin fought against lashing out at the man, imagining instead the man’s surprise when Gavin would walk out the second he was alone. 

His thoughts wandered to a far darker place when he noticed the weapons laying on a table in that same room.

 

Without being noticed, Gavin escaped the holding cell. After that, he’d begun experimenting in crime, going much farther than petty theft after his experience. We would tease him mercilessly when he talked about it; Jack took the cake in saying that Gavin was “too posh to be arrested like a mere peasant.”

After being arrested again, Gavin realized something; while not much of a fighter himself, the man was truly skilled at having others fight for him. Heaven knows he still manages to do it, rarely doing more than firing a warning shot in the heat of battle. Rather, he mocks his opponents and has someone like Michael do the work for him. That kind of manipulation had been exactly what Burnie sought at the time he found Gavin; the Brit came to America not long after his first arrest.

So Gavin was to the Roosters as Ryan was to us. Burnie would call him when needed, and if available Gavin would offer temporary services, from snatching information out of a rival crew member to assisting the more…hands-on members.

Gavin became a friend of mine, solace in times when I felt truly abandoned by the other founders. When I left the Roosters, Gavin offered himself almost immediately. I’d only declined because I was afraid of losing him, too. But after hiring Michael, I remembered his offer, and called Gav in order to bring up a full-time hiring. He accepted, almost too quickly, and we were up to four members.

Well, four and a half.


	6. Ray Narvaez Jr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry that it's been legit over a month since this has updated! So much on my plate, semester exams are this week. Enjoy!!

With such rapid expansions to the Crew, we were becoming the talk of the town. While it may be due, in part, to my former allegiances, the old gang never came up. Even off the clock, I heard the whispers of passersby, fearful whimpers of veterans to this dirt city. With the fame came fans, strangely enough, and with fans came, almost less strange, fanatics.

Despite Jack warning me of ‘security issues,’ I didn’t mind until we had to find a new penthouse. I should learn to listen to her more. Though, I have followed her advice to write these stupid things.

Idolization got out of hand even without disturbing letters at our door and occasional break-ins. Jobs were interrupted too many times for me to count because some starry-eyed newbie recognized one of us. Even so, publicity’s publicity. The fans helped with finding new-hires for B-Team eventually, with their attempts to follow our criminal footsteps. At the time the crew was reaching a maximum headcount, but I knew if we wanted to keep growing, I’d have to find one more rookie: a sniper. That’s when Ray came in.

 

Much like Jack, Ray was raised in a household without much more than the bare necessities of life (heh), and even then they could’ve used some assistance. However, Ray also shared with Gavin a propensity for acting out, and by the time he reached freshman year of high school Ray was the town druggie, rarely caught sober. And similar to Michael, the lad felt a strange pull towards weapons, at least one in particular.

So once Ray was hired, we were all confident he was one of the most talented of us, despite his age. Even high he would never miss a shot, with or without the scope. Ryan pushes it to practice. The sniper started far earlier than the rest of us, and got his hand on a rifle far earlier in his life than even Gavin had with stolen items. Jokingly, Ray claims he was gently nudged towards this road of life, over being dragged into it.

 

“Don’t you have a fucking job? Quit wasting away on my couch and do something with your life.” The voice of a seventy-year-old smoker woman crashed through Ray’s high, pulling him back towards reality; living in a shitty apartment in New York with his grandmother and without a bright future.  
“I can’t get a job, because that means you’ll be left alone all day. With our luck, you’d die within the second.” Ray’s hand searched for the bong buried in the cushions, his eyes never leaving the television screen.

“Leave me here to die, then! Better me than you.”

Ray twitched at the self-pity in her voice; had he not tried to leave in the past, the offer may have been believable. “How the fuck would I die?”

“Watch your mouth around your poor grandmother!”

“I’ve heard worse come out of your mouth.” Before she could argue, Ray left his seat and moved toward the apartment door. She’d apparently forgotten about her past request, because her protesting screeches could be heard as he opened the door.

“Don’t leave me here alone!”

“Better you than me, yeah?” With that, he shut the door carefully behind him.

 

Any time Ray was troubled-which became more and more often as he grew up- he would find the nearest gun range. Yes, it was an oxymoron, going to a classically loud environment to find peace. Still, once Ray had a gun in his hands, a target in front of him, that became all that mattered.

Whatever money he managed to earn that wouldn’t go to rent or groceries would be saved, so that Ray could run away for no more than an hour at a time. 

Any longer, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever want to go without the calm, control of being able to shoot.

The waiting room was all that put him off visiting the range; being forced to endure the combination of every other customer shooting their gun was why Ray hadn’t been willing to try until his father pushed a pistol in his hands, pushed Ray through the door, and aimed the gun for him. Once he pulled the trigger, Ray found his happy place.

His grandmother accused him of insanity; only the mentally unstable could feel calm with something so dangerous. She’d even had him tested, but all they found was minor stuff, nothing truly deranged. 

He felt pulls of anger, but surely those were normal. Surely, imagining pulling a gun on rude strangers wasn’t a sign.

With these thoughts plaguing him, Ray’s arms shook. He began missing the target entirely; before he ran out of ammo, Ray put the gun down and went to the register in front.

“What’s wrong with you today? A little off, bud!” The man laughed, attempting at friendly conversation, as though Ray had ever responded in the past. Just as he always did, Ray wordlessly left the regular amount of money and left.

His hands were shaking all the way home, his head filled with self-doubt and fear. He was no better than a criminal. Hell, he probably had the makings of a serial killer. Shit home life, no friends, drug addiction, what else did he need to have a documentary about his past? 

The thought of being studied in Criminology classes left him before Ray could make a self-deprecatory joke. The image of a dead body in his apartment would usually cause that, unless that was another thing wrong with him.

 

Ray ran, the door hung open, nothing packed. He couldn’t deal, not after his grandmother had yelled she’d die as soon as he left. Losing that last bit of family was too much. Ray could see the police’s face when he reported the death, could hear the accusations ring clear.  
The responsibility of keeping your eye on a bedridden old woman was obviously too much for you, huh, kid?

Worst of all, Ray couldn’t be mad, couldn’t argue with the theoretical officer. He abandoned his own grandmother, and left her to die. His last words to her were ‘better you than me,’ for fuck’s sake. He caused whatever left her dead on the floor, that much was obvious. ‘Cause of death: Disappointment in piece-of-shit grandson.’

Ray saw the sign for a gun range, closed his eyes, and ran faster past it. Maybe someone would find him, homeless and alone. More than likely, he’d have to start from nothing. Suffer from starvation before finding whoever would take him in. Or just suffer.

He ran for what felt like hours, until a sign announcing a nearby city appeared.

“Los Santos,” Ray read out loud. After coming to a stop, fatigue seemed to catch up with him. He woke up to nothing else but the sign and an early sky.

 

Ray walked into Los Santos, attracted to a dingy bar resembling his childhood home. Inside was no different, with matching occupants and alcoholic smell.

His feet carried him until the bartender spoke up, asking for ID.

“I don’t drink. Or have money.”

The tattooed man sneered, but didn’t make any moves to kick Ray out. And so Ray stayed, for hours on end, while buyers filtered in and out. At some point, a different bartender slipped a glass of water in Ray’s hand, but it never touched his lips. Instead, he left the stool he’d claimed, listening closer to a conversation held by two men.

“We need a sniper, man. We won’t get anywhere without having a lookout.”

“Where do you suggest finding one? In here?” Ray sat down at their table, ignoring their glares. “What do you want, kid? Shoo.”

“I’ll be your sniper.” The two men shared a look, but Ray’s eyes didn’t look up. He wasn’t sure if he physically could, at this point.

“Could you handle it? I doubt you can even lift a gun that size.” The first man laughed.

“Test me. If you don’t like what you see, don’t hire me. If you do, I become your sniper.” After several seconds, Ray lifted his hand. The second man took it, and it was a deal.


	7. The Vagabond/Ryan Part 2

Ray’s experience never once failed the crew, and that was still true before we came along. Despite never once holding a sniper rifle, the two men hired him on the spot, asking for his name. In a panicked moment, Ray remembered a childhood nickname: BrownMan. He was sure ‘criminals don’t go by legal names, right?’

He was an occasional hire, a useful back-up. Eventually, Ray began to put his name out there (well, he put BrownMan out there.) Jack called him up for a heist, as a test, and he passed with flying colors. We were the only people to offer him a full-time spot.

And finally, my crew was complete; a boss, a pilot, a torture expert, a frontman, a demolitions expert, and a sniper, along with a sort of B-Team in the making.

Of course, at this point I completely forgot that Ryan wasn’t officially part of the crew. There was rarely a time we didn’t rely on him, and I didn’t bother offering anything better than kill-for-hire. I just assumed he felt right at home. I assumed he felt the same as the rest of us: that he belonged.

I wasn’t proven wrong until he wasn’t there.

 

“Alright, dickheads, it’s time to work.” Geoff had a drink in his hand, and took a swig of it before he sat down to continue talking. “Another crew has been getting rid of our claims on territory; Gavvy here found one of the culprits. We brought him in for questioning. Where’s the Vagabond?”

“Probably hiding away in his room,” Ray said. “Gavin, get him for us.”

“What? Why me?” He squawked.

“Because you’re closest to the door, dumbass. What does it matter who gets him?” 

“Well, Micool, if it doesn’t matter than you do it!”

“Ray asked you, not me!”

“But you just said it didn’t matter!”

“Holy shit, Gavin, just go get him,” Jack interjected. Dejectedly, Gavin rose and followed her directions.

“Why the fuck couldn’t he do that the first time I asked?” Ray’s face didn’t betray emotion, but Michael laughed at the question anyways.

Conversation carried on, with the occasional “Where is Gavin? Why is it taking him so long?” Still, they hadn’t truly gotten anywhere before Gavin ran back in.

“I can’t find the man! He’s gone and disappeared!”

“What? Are you sure?” Geoff stood from his chair, palms on the table surface. “Everyone, search the penthouse. After you’re done, scour Los Santos.”

Gavin was too panicked to think of Geoff’s orders; the other three in the room didn’t suffer from such a distraction.

“Why aren’t you all moving?” Geoff’s voice cracked, and Jack could see the panic in his eyes. He didn’t budge, motioning one of the younger two to speak up. She watched Michael and Ray silently bicker, as if they’d known each other for years. Eventually, Michael stepped up.

“Uh, Geoff? When I was first hired, didn’t you tell me the Vagabond is just a gun-for-hire? He’s probably just out doing jobs for a different crew.”

Geoff stared down Michael, and nothing about him changed. His stature remained stiff, stressed. His face never fell, remaining a fatherly mix of worried and determined. Michael was reminded of a paternal figure, searching for a child in the middle of an amusement park. Eventually, Geoff blinked, however slowly, and they all let out a sigh.

Michael realized his body was tensed, and let his shoulders fall and his face relax. Geoff carefully began to straighten his back, and his eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah. Yeah, he’s just out on a job. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that…”

“Well, he does rather feel like of the family,” Gavin remarked. When the others turned their eyes on him, he began to regret the remark.

“Family.” Geoff seemed to taste the word, with how slowly he spoke.

Silence was broken by Michael, who ruffled the Brit’s hair before settling his arm on Gavin’s shoulder. “You’re so sentimental. God, we’ve only been a crew for a little while.”

“But is this not family?” Jack spoke up again, joining at Gavin’s other side. “We’re closer than most gangs. Don’t you feel it?” Michael refused to answer her, but his face told them everything.

“So, Geoff-y, what are we gonna do about the Vagabond?” When Michael turned to talk to Geoff, no one was there. 

 

Watching my crew admit to being family got my mind racing. I didn’t want Ryan to be left out of this dynamic, no matter what commitment issues he claimed to have. I’d gotten over my own fears without even realizing it. I wanted Ryan to be a part of our family.

I managed to track him down, in the middle of whatever job had stolen him away from our meeting. He didn’t speak, and let me ramble like an asshole, and that mask covering his face never gave any indication on whether he would take my offer.

When I finally ran out of things to say, the Vagabond turned away, walking into the shadows; he came back, a little bloodier than before, and motioned for me to lead him back to my car.

I assumed that this meant he shared our familial bond. I assumed that the whole crew would welcome Ryan, and treat him just the same as everyone else. It was Gavin that told me differently, after what had been a calm day of lying around the penthouse.

 

“Geoff?” He looked nothing like the man he pretended to be, the charmer that wheedled confessions out of double-agents and killed without a glance. At this moment, Gavin was all business. I could hardly remember what it was like to see Michael tackle him to the ground, noodle arms flailing wildly.

“What do you need, Gavvers?” Geoff wanted to pretend like he didn’t notice. Maybe then it would stop, and he wouldn’t have to deal with anything.

“It’s the Vagabond. I…I don’t know if we should trust him. He isn’t joining the fun-”

“You think the man will betray us. Because he isn’t helping Ray beat Jack or Michael in an eating contest?” He had noticed his absence from the shenanigans, of course, and he got worried that he didn’t fit in. But to mistrust a member of his own crew? Geoff couldn’t fathom it.

“It’s not that alone! I mean, it’s just this…nevermind.” Gavin turned away, and Geoff assumed he had soon resumed his joyful persona, running towards the table Jack, Michael, and Ray were still stuffing themselves at.

It was Gavin saying it, so Geoff wouldn’t ignore the warning. The Brit was smart, no matter what the rest of the crew would tease. Too intelligent for his own good, reading people without meaning to. It would get him into more trouble than Geoff would like, but it also got them all out of trouble.

Geoff never dealt with it directly. No, going up to the Vagabond in any way would not end up well, even if he wasn’t prepared to betray them all. Instead, he ensured that no one would ever be alone with him. It would always be Vagabond solo, or a three-person job.

He had to notice, but Geoff was more concerned with ensuring his crew’s safety. Until he proved himself to be trustworthy, that’s the way it would be.

The Vagabond would begin to integrate himself into the games everyone else played. His mask never came off; this gave Geoff and Gavin reason to believe he’d rather not grow that close.

The day did come the Vagabond would take down his walls, trust his crew that much. First came his name; that was the same day Geoff decided to leave him alone with the other crew members. It was the day he proved his undying loyalty, and Geoff wishes it had come about differently.

The first time he was kidnapped as a Fake instead of a Rooster. It could’ve been considered a rite of passage had he not cursed out the assailants as soon as he regained consciousness. It turned out to be the same ones that were fucking with the territorial claims, the ones whom the man we had Ryan torture belonged to.

They had done their studies; Jack and Geoff shared one large room, too far to communicate, but they could see every sick scar earned in torture. The Lads were all in separate rooms, separated by walls thin enough for every scream to be heard clear as day.

It became obvious that Gavin was a practiced victim. It became clear, much sooner, that this was his first time to not be captured alone. He gave them no satisfaction, refused anything more than a flinch, until they moved on to his boys. He was writhing at Michael’s vulgarity, unable to deal with the image of him being hurt.

Ray was better at concealing than Michael, but they got to him, and being able to hear the man give up was worse for Gavin than any wound they could inflict upon him.  
At the end of the first day, the crew was left to handle themselves for the night. Obviously, the rival crew hadn’t thought it through completely, else they would have gotten duct tape. Maybe they would’ve noticed a missing 6th member, as well. 

They weren’t given the chance to learn from this mistake.

The five of them began yelling for each other, ensuring safety and sharing injuries. It got quiet; Jack told Geoff to shut up, so that their captors wouldn’t hear Ray shuffling to untie himself.

The warehouse became far too dark far too quickly, and shouting followed soon after. The men who had kidnapped them hadn’t gone far before the blackout, despite never making any moves to shut the five up. Gunshots broke through, followed by heavy thumps. Geoff couldn’t be sure who was dead and who was shooting.

A door opened to Jack and Geoff’s room, and with a flick there was light, only enough to see that the owner was aiming at his shoes.

“Who is it?” Jack called out. With a small movement, the light revealed the Vagabond’s eerie skull mask. In Geoff’s mind, this meant he had either helped capture them, or was here to save them. He couldn’t decide which was more likely, until the ropes were no longer constricting his body to a chair.

“Thanks, Vagabond!” Geoff shot up out of his chair, and Ryan handed him a pistol covered in blood. While moving to untie Jack, Geoff heard the masked man correct him, under his breath. 

"My name is Ryan."

The three moved, each going to untie one of the Lads and escape. They saw the damage Ryan had done to those that kidnapped them; when they got to the street, they saw the damage Ryan took from them fighting back. Immediately, they knew he loved them the same as they loved each other, the way they now loved him in return.

From that moment on, the six of them were a family. They ruled over Los Santos like kings, with an iron fist, striking terror, and all those other menacing phrases.


	8. Jeremy Dooley

My field team was complete. At that point, the only members besides our main six were Caleb, Kerry, and Lindsay, but we were starting to hire more people; we needed hackers besides Gavin, since it was difficult to hack while in the middle of the robbery. Kerry was starting to leave, eventually working with other crews and even the LSPD.

We got Steffie to assist Caleb with our injuries; she handles minor injuries, fractures and cuts, so that he can focus on breaks and serious scarring. Matt and Kdin acted as a team with hacking, but when Kdin left to work for a crew called The Know, Matt managed to pick up her slack. Andy is a mole we found in the LSPD, so when the cops are giving serious chase, we ask him to clear our files and sabotage the detectives and police. Mica assists both Ryan and Gavin, in very different ways (but both in field work), as well as erases footage of us from news reports. Trevor is Ryan’s torture protégé, so when we need more than one captive at a time, or Ryan’s unavailable, Trevor gets the job done.

And Jeremy? 

Jeremy, originally, was hired for infiltration. He was hired at the same time as Matt, who he knew beforehand, as well as Trevor. When Matt’s skills don’t prevail, Jeremy is there to get the information and get out without being seen. However, once he became a part of the main group, he also joined Ryan and Michael in a league known as my ‘Guard Dogs.’ Those three were sent to deliver warnings, rough someone up, and get the point across.

Still, that’s far in the future. This is meant to talk about his past. We’ll get to Jeremy’s upgrade later.

 

Jeremy was probably born for the criminal life. He was born to a family in debt, a family that tried to fool loan sharks and went into crime just to survive. His childhood was filled with running, never with an explanation. His parents only told him when he moved out at eighteen what they had done, why they never stayed in one place for too long.

When he left, they gave him nothing. He had to start from scratch, make his own name.

The only thing his parents did was sign him up for gymnastics class, at an age where they were still collecting debt and could settle for half a year. Without being able to make friends fast enough, practice was all he had. So he put it to use, breaking into homes, stealing valuables, and avoiding alarms.

Becoming a cat burglar didn’t occur to Jeremy until he robbed the wrong house.

 

“I’ll give you two seconds to run.” Jeremy felt cold metal against his temple. The owner had an arm wrapped around Jeremy’s neck, leaving him at the other’s mercy. He doubted there was any real chance of escape, but it didn’t hurt to try.

“Hey, champ, cool down a second. Let’s just talk.” Jeremy gave his friendliest voice, putting his hands up.

“If you wanted to talk, you wouldn’t be in my home, and there wouldn’t be a hole in my wall.” Admittedly, it wasn’t Jeremy’s best moment; the TV had been heavier than expected, and he fell over from the weight. His elbow had crashed through the drywall.

“Look, you and I both know you don’t have clean hands either. Why not do this together? Come on, you know I’m good. If it hadn’t been for the TV, you would’ve never caught me!”

The gun was pressed harder against his skull. “You really got some nerve. Bragging, at a time like this?”

“You can’t deny it.”

There was deafening silence, and Jeremy couldn’t be sure why there wasn’t a bullet in his head already. After a minute, pressure left his head and neck. When he turned around, his captor held his hand out, and Jeremy realized he was waiting for a handshake.

“What, I save your life and you just reject a handshake?”

“N-no! No, no no! I was just kinda surprised that it worked.” Jeremy let out a laugh and let his shoulders hang. They stood like that until the other man coughed, and Jeremy finally took the other’s hand to shake.

Within the next week, Jeremy was put to the test. He would sneak into some big-name criminal’s house, take some of the money and whatever else he could find, and slip out. All undetected. He had his work cut out for him, but success meant steady income. People to rely on.

Jeremy decided not to contemplate what failure meant.

Luckily, the crew never demanded he do this alone. This was probably due to an assumption that, besides them, he was alone. Most criminals are, to be fair, but the loophole was there. So Jeremy called Matt Bragg and Trevor Collins (known then as TreyCo) for assistance.

Matt quickly got in to hijack the security systems, and Trevor was watchdog while Jeremy found his way in.

The target lived in what was either a small apartment complex or a large house, there were so many doors and windows. There were balconies on the front and left side-facing the city-on the top floors. It was elevated, so stairs led to a porch, but a door under the stairs seemed to open to the first floor.

“Matt, which is the best entrance? There’s too many to fucking count.”

“Uh, looks like there’s a safe on the top floor so either get to the roof and go down or use the front door-”

At this, Jeremy promptly kicked the door open.

“…quietly. Use the front door quietly, because we’re robbing this man.”  
Jeremy shrugged this off, eyes scanning in the dark for anything of value, as well as some stairs.

“Any sign, TreyCo? I need to turn on the lights, its pitch black in here.”

Matt butt in, trashing Jeremy’s credibility as a burglar. “How were you never caught?”

“Can’t make an omelet without cracking a few eggs, Matt!”

“This dude is going to crack your head like an egg, Lil J.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes. “Trevor, any sight?”

“There are some flashy cars but they’re all going too fast to pull in, I think you’re good.” With a nod, Jeremy found the wall, and his fingers felt for a light switch. When it was flicked up, no lights came on. Instead, Matt started yelling in his ear. Jeremy instinctively ducked down behind a couch, away from any windows.

“Get out! There were alarms in the lights!”

“What? Matt, you said you disabled-”

“I’m working with what we have, and this guy has like, ten times as much! It looks like he swapped the lights with an alarm, and I couldn’t detect it. The guy’s good.”

“Yeah? Well I’m better. I’m not leaving empty handing. Trevor, is he on the move?”

“Jeremy, I’m not tracking him. I’m just checking if I see a car coming home. Oh, there’s a car slowing down…it pulled in across the street.”

Matt’s voice came in before Trevor had finished the report. “Jeremy, get off your ass and move! And don’t you dare try to show off your gymnast bullshit.”

“Aw, Matt, you know when you tell me not to show off I have to.”

“Lil J, Matt’s right. The neighbor’s are gonna know something’s up.” Jeremy groaned, but if Trevor was backing a Bragg-Nag, he should listen. Besides, he couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling that this would be the crime that got him locked up.

“Stop calling my advice ‘Bragg-Nags,’ and learn to think to yourself. If you keep standing there, you can and will be arrested!”

“Are you going to shut up at any point, Matt?” 

Matt chose that moment to note give a snappy retort. Jeremy took a breath, and when neither of his partners gave any more input, he poked his head up. The house opposite the one he stood in had a car in the front that hadn’t been there before. Not that there was a reason to doubt Trevor, but Jeremy had to confirm it himself. He couldn’t afford to place his trust fully in anyone else.

The lights in the other house were still off. If Jeremy listened hard, what could be the car’s engine was heard. The neighbor was waiting for a sign that something was going on.

“Matt.”

No response.

“Matt, come in buddy. I need an exit that the nosy asshole across the street can’t see.”

Still nothing.

“Matt, what’s going on?”

“I thought you wanted me to shut up, Lil J?”

Jeremy audibly sighed, harshly whispering, “Matt. You can’t do that to me, man.”

“Aw, I didn’t know you cared, Jeremy!”

“Seriously, Trevor?”

“Love you too!”

“If you two would quit fucking, I could help.”

“Who says I can’t share? You can join us, Matt!”

“TreyCo, focus! Jeremy, there’s a window that drops you in a bush to your right. It’d be hiding you from the neighbor, but you gotta run, and stay stealthy!”

“Another Bragg-Nag, huh Trev?”

“Just go, Jeremy.”

“Was I talking to you, Matt?”

“If you get out of this alive, I’m killing you.”

It was after he stopped laughing that Jeremy realized that the alarm had stopped blaring. “Oh, come the fuck on!”

Without a second’s hesitation, Jeremy ran to a window on the east wall and dove out, headfirst, into the bush Matt told him about.

“You don’t know how to fucking play stealthy, huh?”

This time, Jeremy didn’t give a response. He had to recover from the dive, removing himself from the (strangely entangled) bush, and ran to the next house, crouching so that his body was parallel to the ground. He leapt over the gate, waited, and peaked up once again.

After a couple of seconds, the car door opened, and out stepped a man far too tall to have been sat that long without getting a cramp. The man turned to show a phone held to his ear, and Jeremy took that as a sign to make a getaway. So he started what Trevor would call waddling.

“Oh, Jeremy, you need to get out of there.”

“You think I don’t know that? What the fuck do you think I’m doing?” The questions were forced through Jeremy’s teeth, but the force gave away how he felt about the situation.

“I’m serious, dude. That’s a big name in the crime scene: Ramsey, formerly of the Roosters.”

“You say that like I know anything about it, Matt.”

“You should.”

Jeremy stopped creeping away. He looked up, and the man holding the phone was towering over his body. Jeremy coughed and stood up, coming to his ear. He was wearing a suit as though it weren’t the middle of the night and the middle of June, and the hand not holding a cellphone to his ear was gripping a bottle of tequila like a lifeline.

Definitely Ramsey, then.

“How’d you manage to get in his house?” Jeremy blinked. The man, so well known for being ruthless, didn’t seem aggravated. The cellphone was still pressed to his ear, so Jeremy didn’t respond until Ramsey prompted him a second time.

“I just-I walked in.”

“I really should’ve expected an answer like that. You and your friends have some skill, but a lot of room to grow.” Jeremy looked down, as if being scolded by a father figure. Something told him that Ramsey was a father figure to some. The tone in his voice had the same ‘I’m not mad just disappointed’ sound Jeremy had always heard from dads of friends. His own father didn’t have the space to have high expectations.

Ramsey stopped talking. Jeremy looked back up, and he was smirking instead. “Come work for me. Invite your friends too.”


	9. BrownMan Exits

Fate wouldn’t allow us to ride smooth water for too long. We had to learn some kind of lesson about morality, had to be turn our pride down a notch and learn we aren’t invincible.

Fate is a fucking dick. 

We had to lose a member somehow, and everyone knew it. Every time someone didn’t respond on the comms, or was late to regrouping, I remembered that someday I had to lose one of them. That can’t stop the shock, or prevent the pain. All that it does is make me feel like an asshole for being logical.

We went long enough without serious injuries. Caleb mostly had his hands full with the lads acting like idiots and breaking a couple bones every now and then, and after Ryan had to save us we were all basically held prisoner in his little doctor’s office for a month and a half. But nothing could compare to the aftermath of the first major heist I ever planned.

It was pretty plain, especially compared to later ones. Gav and I would rob some supermarket, with Ray sniping and Jack would plant bombs on it before waiting in the getaway car. We would drive to an alley Michael and Ryan were waiting in with two other cars, and Michael would block off the entrance to cops. Ryan and I got in one car, Jack and Gavin in another. The two parties drove off, in opposite directions, and Ray would leave his area to pick up Michael on a motorcycle stashed nearby. The three vehicles all had to meet up at Chiliad via different routes-Ryan and I went by boat-and split the money.

And, of course, it all went to shit.

 

“Drive, Jack, fucking drive! The cops are gonna be mad as dicks!” Geoff seemed to be out of breath and he and Gavin dove into Jack’s car. Obediently, she slammed on the gas and the shot forward, closing the back doors with the sheer force. They drove forward, full speed, until Jack turned into a small alley, almost slamming the car into the wall. Gavin and Geoff turned to see a box truck moving to block their entrance from the main road: Michael.

Without warning, Jack slammed on the brake, and all three of them fled the car. Geoff ran to join Ryan in the car to their left, and before he closed the door their car was speeding off. Gavin ran to other car, hopped in the passenger seat, and began driving out.

“Fucking god DAMMIT, Gavin!” Jack was left in the alley, screaming after the car. Clearly, Gavin noticed his mistake, and Jack could hear his tires screeching to a halt.

“Jack, come in! Hurry!” Behind Gavin’s yelling was gunshots, telling Jack that he had left the alley and been greeted with the police cars Michael had cut off. She started cautiously moving towards the exit he had taken. “Jack, love, come on, I’m getting absolutely mullered-”

His voice was replaced with static, and Jack ran forward without a thought for her own safety. She hid behind the car, sneaking into the driver’s seat and pushing a blacked out Gavin into the passenger. “Geoff, Gavin is bleeding out.”

“Fucking shit…drive to a farther off safehouse, call Caleb and have him gather some medical supplies. We can distract the cops. Michael, while you’re waiting for way, blow up the truck, car, and supermarket.”

“Fucking finally! Yes!”

They could all hear the following explosion through the comms. Jack spared a grin as she drove Gavin away from the blaring sirens and flashing police lights. Michael cackled, watching as it all went up in flames.

“I think Michael lost his mind. I don’t feel safe alone with him.” Ray’s voice was nearly inaudible under the chaos of the city. “Alright, Psycho, get ready. I’m coming down.”

Michael seemed far too giddy on the motorcycle, firing shots into the air and into cops’ heads. Ray was trying his hardest to avoid collisions, but suddenly they were thrown off the bike, over a car, and onto the street. 

“Ray? Ray!” Michael struggled to lift his head, but once he saw Ray lying still, too still to be safe, he crawled towards the lad. Nothing would wake him, no slaps or screams made a difference. “Geoff, Ray is out cold. We’re both hurt real bad.”

Without hesitation, Ryan swerved the car off-route. Geoff didn’t protest, and told Michael that they were on the way, that he should get himself and Ray to safety and wait.

Michael obeyed, taking bullets for Ray and dragging them both behind a car, occasionally blindly firing through the window and hoping he hit someone. Eventually, another car pulled up and raised hell. Michael looked up and watched bullets fly, and part of him felt more at ease than he had ever been back in New Jersey. 

He wasn’t sure when it ended, or when Geoff and Ryan came out to carry them both into the car and drive off. He woke up, saw an unmasked Vagabond driving the car, and must have passed out again before he was shaken awake by Gavin, who was almost entirely wrapped in stained gauze, including one around head, covering his right ear.

“Michael! Micoo, you’re awake! Oh, bloody hell, boi, you really had us all worried!”

Michael pushed him away and sat up. He was in a makeshift bed, and his arm was bound to resemble a cast. He had blood-stained gauze, like Gavin, wrapped around his torso. The room was like a rundown shed, and had no windows or holes. The only light came from a lantern in the middle of the floor. Ray was in a bed against the opposite wall, and an empty bed was pushed against the wall to Michael’s right.

“Is Ray awake?”

“He goes in and out. He hit the ground pretty hard, looks like.” Gavin looked towards the man in question, and for a second his happy face became solemn, worried. He looked back at Michael, and was grinning again; Michael couldn’t convince himself that what he’d seen was real.

“Gav, get off of Michael, leave him alone.” Jack was closing the door behind her when Michael looked up. “He needs to heal and rest, just like you did.”

“How long have I been out?”

“About three days. Once Ray is up for longer than a minute, Geoff wants us all to head back to the penthouse. Caleb did his best with what he could bring, but everyone’s gauze is already ruined.” Michael glanced at his hip; the blood looked like it had soaked through immediately, and most of Gavin’s looked similar.

“Caleb just fucking left? Did he not leave any extra bandages?”

“Michael, you need to understand, he left as soon as he could and brought whatever he could spare. We’re pretty far from the city, and had to use most of it on Gavin.”

“Dumbass.”

“Who, Gavin or Caleb?”

“Gavin. Caleb has done a lot for us.”

“Wot? Michael, I do a lot for us too!” Gavin pouted at Michael, who shoved him off the makeshift bed.

“Michael, he’s still healing!” Jack ran over to Gavin, but he just waved her off.

“Aw, it’s alright, Jack. I know Michael loves me!” Gavin grinned brightly at Michael. In return, he rolled his eyes and didn’t bother to hide his smile.

“Gaaaay,” a voice muttered weakly. The three looked to see Ray slowly attempting to leave his bed. Jack ran over to him, having the lad sit up against the wall. She ran out of the room, presumably to get Geoff and Ryan. 

“How do you feel, Ray-Man?” 

“Never better, Mikey. I can barely feel the fact that my body is filled with bullets.”

“Don’t be a drama queen, X-Ray!”

The door opened quickly, interrupting Ray’s biting retort. All three Gents walked in, Geoff holding a celebratory bottle of whiskey in the air. “Time to go, boys! Try not to bleed in my car; it’s worth more than your cuts on that last heist.”

 

Physically, Ray’s wounds healed, but he never really recovered. At first we all assumed he was still tired. But, as time went on, it never got better. He wouldn’t join in on fun arguments, or when we would play board games. His snarky comments were few and far between, choosing instead to stay silent until I forgot he was there.

Worst of all, he stopped trying. His sniping was still accurate as fuck, never missed a shot. But when it came to self-preservation, it was like his own survival meant nothing to him. He only survived as long as he did because we all put our necks on the line for him. So when the day came that Ryan reported that a cop got Ray as they were making a getaway, no one could really be surprised.


End file.
